


with a tie we cannot break (im bound to you)

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bingo, Bucky And Becca Are Twins, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019, Crossover, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Matchmaker Harry Styles, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension, did you know that gum was invented in 1848, dubious knowledge of the U.S Army based on a google search, what the fuck is goofspiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Everyone is born with two letters on their skin, the initials of their soulmate. If they're romantically compatible, the soul bond takes hold, and two soulmates can feel what the other feels any time they like - emotionally and physically.Some people waste years filtering through relationship after relationship and waiting for the bond to manifest. Some people meet their soulmate by chance, and the bond solidifies, only to find that they aren't compatible. There's infidelity, there's death, there's tragedy and distance and doubt.But sometimes... sometimes it works out.This is one of those times.orLouis has the initialsB.B.on his wrist. He meets Becca first.





	with a tie we cannot break (im bound to you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Steph and Jamila, who have been endlessly supportive and wonderful and amazing as I've agonized over this for the past seven months. Steph has always been so enthusiastic and great as I've hopped on board this little ship that she captains. Jamila has been the most perfect beta and friend and bouncing ideas off of her has been the easiest and most fulfilling process for when I'm stuck or unsure or just plain need to talk something out.
> 
> side note: my judgment of technological advancements are way off. i cannot tell you how many times i googled "when was _____ invented"
> 
> Title from Another Place by Bastille.
> 
> **Square filled: Soulmate**
> 
> _The current tags are for Chapter 1. Tags will be updated accordingly._

When Harry sets them up, Louis is sure that it’s too good to be true. 

Rebecca is everything that Louis has ever looked for in a girl. Christ, she’s so sweet. Sweeter than the icing sugar that his mom puts on her Christmas cookies. 

On top of that, in all of his twenty-five years – and of all the girls he’s half-heartedly gone through – no one has ever quite understood him the way Becca does. She gets it when he doesn’t want to talk, gets it when he can’t stop talking. She’ll indulge every stupid joke that comes out of his mouth and fire back with something better. It blows his mind from the get-go, the way they fall together.

And they fall fast. It’s been six months now, and Louis has been on cloud nine ever since that fateful night when Harry all but shoved him into her at that one dingy bar on St. Marks, their feet tangling in the middle of the dance floor. Swing music was blaring unbearably loud, so loud that Louis didn’t bother speaking, just held his hand out for her to take and let his instincts do the rest. They were made to dance with each other, and it turns out they were made to do everything else with each other, too. Their tiny Brooklyn Heights apartment – that has a view of the bridge and the city that they shouldn’t technically be able to afford – is the place where they weave in and out and around each other with ease. Their morning routines are seamlessly choreographed like the ballets they sometimes go see at Radio City. She makes his coffee and he burns the toast but she eats it anyway, and when their days collide again once the sun sets, it’s perfect then, too.

It’s only a bonus that the soulmark on the back of her neck are the letters _L.T._ in dark, black ink, matching the _B.B._ on the inside of Louis’ wrist. The bond materializes between them almost immediately, and Louis can feel his own elation echoed back at him in his veins. He has to pinch himself just to be sure that he’s not dreaming, and Becca clutches at her own arm in the same spot, grinning madly. 

So, yeah, too good to be true. But here they are, Louis nearly dropping the casserole he’s carrying as the two of them turn down Flatbush Avenue towards Becca’s childhood home.

“Are you sure they’re gonna like me?” Louis asks worriedly.

The wind has picked up since they left. (The view might be great, but the chill and gusts of air from living near the water is a killer, especially in the winter.) Louis’ mom made the casserole because he can’t cook for shit and Becca is just as bad; She’d kill him if the dish didn’t even make it to the Barnes’.

“Your family loves _me_ , don’t they? Besides, it’s less than half as many people to impress. Just ma and Jamie. He’ll probably try to scare ya, but it’s all talk. You’ll be fine. If not, I’ll deck ‘em both.”

“Please don’t punch your mom.”

Becca playfully shoves him, ignoring the way he trips on a crack in the sidewalk and almost loses the dish again.

“For fuck’s sake, Becca, the _food._ ”

She just giggles, sending his heart fluttering. God, he loves her. He really does. 

“Alright, here we are,” Becca announces when they reach number nine. It’s a two-family walk up with a knocker on the door. “Shall I?”

He’s sure that she can feel the wave of nerves that crests in him, just as her excitement trickles across the bond and into him.

Louis takes a deep breath. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

But instead of knocking, she produces a key from seemingly nowhere and barges into the house. They make their way through both doors, down the hall, and into the first-floor apartment. Becca goes in guns blazing. 

“Ma! We’re here!”

A small woman appears from what must be the kitchen, beaming and with open arms. Louis goes easily, pulling out all the stops to charm her. He’s terrified behind his scrunched up smile, dying to put down the heavy dish in his hands. Becca offers no rescue, just watches on over her mother’s shoulder with an amused smirk on her face. Louis scowls.

“Say, Mrs. Barnes, can I drop this off in the kitchen? Is there room in the fridge or should I pop it in the oven?”

“Oh! Of course.” She shoos him towards the room she just came from. “Jamie can help you out. If he starts moaning about cooking just ignore him. He’s in a mood today.”

Becca rolls her eyes. “Isn’t he always?”

Their conversation fades out as Louis drifts into the kitchen. It’s warm and smells heavenly, and he thinks that maybe he might have to loosen his belt a couple of notches after supper. And there, fussing over all of the food must be the famous Jamie that everyone keeps going on about. Becca loves her brother, never shuts up about him, and Louis half hopes that he’s heard as much about Louis as Louis has about him.

“Hey,” Louis says tentatively. “Jamie, right? Your mom said I could drop this off in here, that you’d know what to do with it.”

Louis has seen plenty of photos of the Barnes family, of a pair of smiling young twins in various stages of childhood. But none of that could have prepared Louis for the moment that Becca’s very adult brother turns around to face him for the very first time. It happens then that Louis is jolted from _mildly nervous_ to _completely out of his element_ and he hopes that Becca is too distracted to notice, lest she teases him forever for it. Soft features meet sharp lines, dark strands of hair brushing his forehead. Good Lord, he’s beautiful. There’s a moment, a moment that maybe gets suspended in time, where Louis gets to take in every bit of the face in front of him. It’s the same stretched-out moment he felt when he first saw Becca. 

It makes no sense; he’s already _found_ his soulmate. His wrist itches. 

Jamie seems utterly unaware that Louis is in the midst of a crisis. He just groans, wiping his hands on the apron he’s wearing and sticking one out towards Louis. 

“Christ,” he says gruffly, “Call me Bucky, I’m begging you.”

Suddenly, Louis is shaking Bucky Barnes’ hand with one of his own while a casserole teeters dangerously in the other. 

“Louis. Tomlinson,” he stutters. What the hell is he so out of breath for? “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard… probably more about you than you know. Kinda bummed we didn’t get to meet sooner.”

“I’ll bet.” 

Bucky takes the casserole and sticks it into the oven to reheat. And now that Louis’ hands are free he has no idea what to do with them, so he shoves them in his pockets. 

“My mom’s place is pretty far and I was working a lot. Never really had the chance to stop by. Then we got our place, so there wasn’t much reason to come over, I guess.” He shrugs, then feels self-conscious with Bucky’s back to him. “You need any help in here?”

Bucky turns, eyes him suspiciously like he can’t believe that Louis offered. 

“I got it covered.”

“Come on, I can’t sit out there with a guilty conscience knowing that you’re doing this all by yourself.”

“Um.” Bucky hands him a potato peeler and points to the bag on the counter. “If you insist.”

He doesn’t seem particularly enthused.

“So how come your family calls you Jamie?” Louis asks as he grabs a potato from the bag. “It’s not at all close to Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t look at him as he continues his careful dance around the kitchen. 

“My name’s actually James. James Buchanan.”

“Like the president?”

Bucky hums affirmatively. Dismissively?

“Huh…” 

Louis watches him for a moment, the fluid way he moves around the small space, absolutely set on what he’s doing. And he’s doing it well, keeping a perfect eye on everything. Louis is just standing there like an idiot, still not having peeled a single potato. He tries to focus on the task at hand. 

“You like to cook?”

He doesn’t know why he’s trying to make small talk. It seems _polite_ , but it’s obvious that Bucky doesn’t want to talk because he just hums again, not stopping or acknowledging Louis’ presence. But he can’t stop himself, he wants Bucky to like him, wants to know if there’s a chance that they could be friends at the very least. 

He steals a few glances at Bucky, trying to gauge whether or not now’s a good time to start talking again. He really is beautiful, the sunset coming through the window giving him a golden silhouette. Louis wouldn’t mind looking at him for a bit longer. So he does.

Except the next time he opens his mouth to talk, the peeler slips out of his grip.

Becca curls up next to Louis on the sofa, helping him bandage the cut. It’s not as bad as it could’ve been, but there was enough blood to warrant his immediate exile from the kitchen. He’s just lucky that Bucky didn’t throw him out the window.

Becca has only just stopped cooing at Louis – more to annoy him than comfort him – when Bucky emerges from the kitchen, looking frazzled and drying his hands.

“You two really are made for each other,” he scoffs.

His hair is curling around his temples and Louis finds himself unable to look away. Just like earlier. Maybe that’s why he nearly sliced his own thumb right off. 

Or maybe he’s just bad at cooking.

“Shut up Jamie,” Becca says defensively.

Bucky just rolls his eyes and disappears into a different room.

“Is he feeling okay?” Louis asks genuinely, keeping his voice low. “Like, really. He was being kind of…” He shrugs vaguely. “Not at all like how you said.”

Becca shrugs back. “Don’t worry about it, he’s just being Jamie. I meant what I said, though, I will punch him so you better let me know if he starts being mean to you.”

“I don’t think–” Louis shakes his head. “He won’t be mean. I just don’t think he wants anything to do with me.”

The admission hits him when he actually hears it. Bucky’s been short with him in the few minutes they spent together and Louis doesn’t think he said anything wrong. Maybe it’s the protective brother thing. Louis knows that he’s inherently not going to like any guy that cozies up to his baby sisters. He just has to give Bucky reasons to trust him. Find common ground. Does Bucky like baseball?

Louis asks him once they’ve settled in to eat. 

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.” Then he stuffs his face with food to avoid saying anything more. 

“Think we could go to a game sometime maybe? My treat.”

“The Dodgers suck.”

Becca tries to be subtle about the way she kicks Bucky under the table, but he doesn’t react even as all the food and drinks jolt. Their does their mother.

“Aw, come on,” Louis protests. “You know that’s not true. They win the pennant more often than not.”

Bucky snorts. “And yet they can’t actually win the World Series for shit.” He rolls his eyes. “But fine. I’ll go. I’m in no position to be rejecting free stuff.”

But even when Louis is helping Mrs. Barnes wash the dishes and Bucky has made himself scarce once more, it doesn’t feel like much of a victory. 

{ ☆ }

Louis frowns at his reflection, suddenly and irrationally worried that his appearance is underwhelming. There’s something nagging at the back of his brain telling him that he has to impress Bucky. It’s ridiculous but reasonable, he wants Becca’s family to _like_ him. Somehow, though, he feels guilty. It pokes at him as he smoothes the front of his shirt, as he adjusts his hair into something slightly presentable, as he pulls on his best trousers and wipes the dirt off of his best shoes. 

“You gettin’ all dolled up to go see my brother?” Becca teases from the doorway. “Gonna treat him all nice and proper on your date?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Louis gives her an unimpressed look that melts into a smile. He walks over to her and tugs her into his arms. She looks about ready to start teasing him again but lets it go in favor of a sweet goodbye kiss. It’s one of those things that Louis always looks forward to, as much as he hates leaving her. Her kisses are like sweet, sweet lemonade.

“Wanna go roller skating tomorrow?”

“Oh, aren’t you Mr. Money Bags,” she marvels. “Baseball _and_ roller skating? What’s next, dinner at The Ritz?”

He laughs. “Shut up. Just wanna treat ya, is that so bad? I fuckin’ _love_ you, you monster.”

Becca lets all pretenses of teasing fall away, her face going soft. She presses another kiss to his lips, then another. 

“I love you, too.”

He groans theatrically to stop from getting all choked up. “Alright,” Louis forces himself to pull away. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Go on. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Got it,” Louis says seriously, “Nothing.”

Except the first thing he does when Bucky answers the door is something Becca would never do in a million years, which is embarrass the hell out of himself. He can’t help it though, because Bucky is dressed to the nines in a crisp, pressed blue button-up tucked into trousers matched to the exact shade. The color is only separated by the black belt around his slim waist and it makes his legs look so _so_ long that if you were looking from a distance you wouldn’t ever believe that he and Louis are the same height. His hair is completely devoid of any product, soft and sleek curls spilling out from underneath his Yankees baseball cap. And maybe he’s not dressed to the nines, he’s actually maybe a little underdressed, but Louis’ mouth drops open regardless and the _wow_ that slips out is completely out of his control. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Sorry,” Louis tries to amend, making a point to look Bucky in the eye. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. You look nicer. S’just a baseball game.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He starts down the stairs and doesn’t check to see if Bucky is following. “D’you wanna take the subway or just walk? It’s nice out but if you wanna get there early…”

“We can walk. I don’t mind. Subway’s a travesty anyway.”

Then he falls quiet and there’s nothing but the sound of their footsteps on the concrete. Louis wants to say something and opens his mouth several times to do so, but he can’t. He’s scared. Bucky is the guy that Becca never shuts up about, who had her long before Louis even met her. Bucky’s the one that she’d have if things with Louis ever went to shit. He’s the sweet, funny, quietly nerdy jock that’s probably already in training to be shipped off to war and Louis can’t think of two words to say to him. He so badly wants for Bucky to like him because he knows that would make Becca happy. And that’s all he wants for her, that’s what makes _him_ happy. That’s really the only reason why. At least… that’s what he keeps telling himself. The thought that maybe there’s another reason hits him when they reach Prospect Park. He blushes at the mere notion of it. The absurdity. It’s a ridiculous thought that he shouldn’t even be entertaining and yet here he is, having a silent war with himself while his soulmate’s brother walks beside him with a scowl on his face.

So Louis schools his voice into something neutral. He’s just making conversation. He hopes Bucky believes it.

“Have you ever heard of someone having two soulmates? I’ve heard stories about it but never met anyone. Apparently it’s really rare, but I don’t really buy it.”

Bucky’s demeanor changes for a fraction of a second. His eyes widen so slightly that Louis might’ve missed it had he not been staring so intently. 

“Um,” Bucky shifts his hands in his pockets, “Yeah, I met someone once. Had the same soulmark as their sibling.”

“Really? But doesn’t that technically make the siblings soulmates? That’s like…” Louis wrinkles his nose. The word _incest_ lies on the tip of his tongue.

Bucky shakes his head, and his features fall back to the same poker face from the other day. 

“No. Since they were related it was impossible for the bond to actually manifest romantically. It just meant they had the same soul. The same soulmate. So the three of them all had the same mark.” 

Louis tilts his head. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

“I like to read.”

Once they reach the stadium, everything passes by in a blur. They get past the initial awkwardness when they settle into their nosebleed seats, glaring enviously at the seats along the foul line. All Louis has to do is say something along the lines of _I hate rich people_ and Bucky doesn’t stop talking after that. He lives up to everything Becca has ever said about him; his intelligence, his motormouth, his enthusiasm for a team he apparently hates. He’s got the strongest opinions that Louis has ever heard – second only to Becca herself – and he’s not shy about getting up and shouting along to a good play. He nearly loses his hat at a fly ball that just barely lands in the pitcher’s mitt. And through it all, Louis is helpless to do anything except bear witness to Bucky’s firecracker personality. His heart lightens up at the dam breaking between them. By the time the seventh inning rolls around and Bucky stands up to stretch, Louis is half convinced that maybe Bucky doesn’t hate him after all. 

They take the train back, chatting excitedly about the game the whole way. When they reach Bucky’s house, Louis almost doesn’t want him to go inside. He doesn’t want this to end.

“Thanks for the ticket,” Bucky says. His hands are planted in his pockets again but he’s got a rueful smile on his face. “I know I was kind of an asshole the other day, but I had a good time. You’re not half bad, you know that?”

Louis smiles back. “Thanks. You’re not so terrible yourself, I can see why Becca never shuts up about ya.”

Bucky’s smile loses its luster after that. “Yeah. You take care of each other, alright?”

“Of course.” Louis can feel the ease between them slipping. Everything’s a lot tenser than it was a minute ago, and Louis doesn’t know how to fix it. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

It’s not until Bucky has one foot through the door that he says it back.

{ ☆ } 

“You wanna go out tonight?”

Louis smiles as Becca slides into his lap, warm and perfect, pressing her lips to his forehead. It feels like days since he’s seen her, even longer since they did something fun together, but his legs ache at the thought of it. Between taking on extra shifts at work to be able to afford how much he and Bucky have been hanging out lately, and actually going out, he’s wiped. 

“Y’think we could just hang around here? I’m exhausted. We could play cards or something. Up for a little gamble?”

She looks vaguely disappointed for half a second, quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it.

He frowns. “M’sorry Becs, you know I’d love to. Maybe next week? I’ll try to take it easy.”

“It’s okay.” But she shuffles off of his lap and onto the sofa next to him. “Just feels like my brother sees more of you than I do these days.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not true.”

Guilt sits in Louis’ stomach, hot and uncomfortable and his wrist starts to itch again. But they both know he’d rather be here any day, huddled up warm and content with his favorite person in the whole world. His _soulmate_. She knows this. She has to know that he’d never choose anyone over her. He’s allowed to have _friends_ , and maybe it’s a little weird that it’s her twin brother, but he can’t help who he gets along with.

And he and Bucky get along swell.

“Jamie’s got other friend’s, y’know. Well. Friend. I’ve never seen him with anyone besides Steve for as long as I can remember–” She’s squashing her own point, and waves her hand harshly when she realizes it. “But I imagine he knows other people. He gets around.”

“Bec, I _know_. We’re just getting to know each other is all. Plus, I’ve been introducing him to _my_ friends. Well, he already knows Harry, but I think him and Nialler are gonna get along great. Liam loves him, obviously–”

“Alright, okay, fine. I get it.” Becca sighs, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I just miss ya more than usual, I guess. Haven’t been apart much since the bond really set in.” She smiles at the memory of the feeling. He does too. “I’ll go get the cards.”

She comes back with a fresh deck and a brand new bottle of whiskey, pulling up the sofa table they use for having dinner in front of the TV to watch the _CBS Television Quiz_.

“Goofspiel,” she says with a sinister grin. “No cheating. I’ll know.”

Louis takes a long pull of the liquor straight from the bottle. He’s going to need it.

{ ☆ }

They shouldn’t be at a dog kennel, mostly because who in the hell can afford a dog these days? But also because Becca is most definitely allergic and there’s no room in their tiny apartment and Louis is positive that he wouldn’t be able to give a dog the life it deserves. Not even a sick old dog that just needs a comfortable home before he passes. 

But after seeing Bucky hold a tiny puppy next to his face while it licks him into oblivion, Louis can’t bring himself to leave. He just keeps pointing out puppies for Bucky to hold, watching him smile and coo and put on a voice that Louis thought was generally reserved for babies. Bucky is covered in fur and slobber and his hair has been ruffled to hell, but Louis can’t stop grinning. His heart has never felt so full.

Louis immediately feels guilty for thinking it.

“Enjoying yourself there?” Bucky asks as he puts the last puppy back.

“Could ask you the same. You’ve held every dog in here.”

Bucky smiles, big and dopey and oh-so-mischievous as they step out of the store and back onto Park Avenue. 

“Your fault,” he says. “Puppies shouldn’t be kept there anyway. I wish I could take ‘em all. Ma would have an embolism, though.”

They stop for lunch at an overpriced café, but Bucky’s buying so Louis isn’t about to complain. It’s owned by actual French people, with actual French accents, and after Bucky orders for them, he tells Louis that he’s learning French for the war. Louis wrinkles his nose at Bucky across the tiny table when he says this, then fiddles with his teacup as he leans back nonchalantly. He can tell when Bucky clocks the juxtaposing body language; Bucky frowns and leans forward like he’s about to apologize.

Before he can, Louis says, “I just wish you wouldn’t talk about it like it’s a sure thing.”

“I–” Bucky sighs. “I know. Me too. I’m sorry. It just… it scares me. I figure if I talk about it… I dunno. Thought I could make myself come to terms with it. It feels pretty inevitable right now.”

Louis nods. He leans onto the table, too, giving up all pretenses of indifference and taking Bucky’s hands in his.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just focus on being here for now. Nothing is inevitable. Possible? Sure. But so is getting struck by lightning.”

Bucky chuckles softly, hands twitching in between Louis’ own like he wants to pull back. Louis grips tighter.

“You’re right.”

Bucky says it with an air of confidence that Louis himself doesn’t even feel, much less believe. It’s empty words, they both know it. It’s _war_ , and it’s going to snatch Bucky up and swallow him whole and Louis is never going to get to see him again. So he releases Bucky’s hands and takes a few minutes just to watch him eat. Bucky gets distracted, as he often does, and watches everyone else. If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it, and maybe that’s for Louis’ benefit. He just silently finishes his croissant with a small smile on his face, leaning back in his chair and looking every bit like Louis’ newfound best friend. 

Maybe best friend doesn’t do justice to the fear Louis feels when he imagines Bucky leaving. 

Bucky pays for their lunch and walks Louis home and hugs him a little too tight. Louis hugs back, just as tight if not tighter. 

“See you tomorrow?” Louis asks.

“I’m a little busy the next two weeks, but I’ll give you a call when I’m free again. Hang out with Steve,” Bucky says with a wink, “He’ll be missing me just as much.”

{ ☆ }

Louis met Steve Rogers in the same way that everyone meets Steve Rogers: getting his ass handed to him in a back alley fight. 

Louis was just trying to do the right thing, intervening and trying to stop a little guy from getting beaten half to death. He was 15 and had blood running down his chin, and Louis had managed to detangle him from the fray. But then Steve had swung at Louis in a blind rage and proceeded to yell obscenities even as he was easily dragged away into the nearest corner store. Louis had promptly asked what the hell Steve thought he was doing, and in true Steve Rogers fashion he’d replied, _They were being goddamned disrespectful to a lady!_

It didn’t take long for Louis to learn that it took next to nothing to set Steve off; he’d sic himself on anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. It was amusing at first (and honestly still kind of is), but as months went by Louis desperately wanted to know _why_ Steve was so angry all the time. He’s too small and too sick to be putting his body through so much stress, and he knows this, but, to this day, he does it anyway. 

So of course, Louis asks. But that’s only because he just pulled Steve away from _another_ fight in which he was getting hopelessly pummeled into the grass in the middle of the park. Louis orders Steve to take out his sketchbook and just _do what he came here to do in the first place_. 

“Why do you do that?” 

Steve doesn’t even look up from his drawing, knowing exactly what Louis is asking.

“Oh, shut up,” he says. “I don’t ask _you_ about why you do things.”

“Because I don’t go throwing myself into fights when I have an iron deficiency and asthma.”

“And that’s why you’re boring.”

Louis pretends to swoon. “You say the sweetest things.”

“Hey! Stay still, I’m almost done.”

“Okay, okay.” 

The whole reason they’re here is that Steve dragged Louis to the park by the Brooklyn Bridge to do some drawing. Apparently, Bucky is a terrible model; he’s squirmy and never shuts up and drinks a whole can of soda and then runs off to the bathroom before Steve can finish. Louis isn’t sure that he’s much better, but he doesn’t mention it. He needs a few hours away from Becca anyway because her smile keeps reminding him of Bucky’s and it’s… worrying. And while his heart skips a beat every time he sees it, he’s not sure if it’s because of her or because of whatever’s going on in his messed up head.

Then he wonders, based on the sheer longevity of Steve and Bucky’s friendship:

“Have you ever seen Bucky’s soulmark?”

That _does_ make Steve look up. He looks perplexed when he says, “No. No, I haven’t actually.”

“In _fifteen years_?”

“He hates talking about soulmates and shit. Got all cagey whenever it came up, so I stopped asking. And especially since you and Becca got together he’s been…” He shakes his head. “You two have been hanging out a lot, you haven’t seen it either?”

“I guess it’s not in an easily visible place.” Then a horrible thought pushes itself to the forefront of Louis’ mind. “Do you… D’you think he doesn’t have one?”

“I…” Steve sticking his pencil behind his ear makes Louis’ stomach turn uncomfortably. “I honestly never thought of that. I just assumed–”

Louis’ own soulmark starts to itch again. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. It’s not really our business. Feels like gossiping.” 

“I just…” Steve nods, goes back to his drawing. “I just want the best for him you know? He’s my best friend. I hope he does have someone out there for him. He deserves it more than anyone.”

Louis turns away from Steve, resumes his pose and watches the water, looks over at the jagged skyline of lower Manhattan that’s getting taller every year.

“Yeah. I know,” he agrees gently. “Now hurry up, my back’s killing me.”

{ ☆ }

When the phone rings two weeks later and Louis leaps for it, Becca gives him a strange look. She doesn’t say anything, just lets him scurry up to the roof after doing his best not to give away that it’s Bucky on the other end of the call. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to keep it a secret, it’s not like Bucky is _his_. But he doesn’t realize this until after he’s hung up and is waiting on the roof watching the sunset. 

Their landlord told them that he’d lost the roof key some ten-odd years ago and that it’s not so much off-limits as it is genuinely inaccessible. 

Luckily for Louis, the rest of the residents in the building are between the ages of elderly and ancient, so he’s the only one with enough agility to heave himself up from the top floor fire escape to the edge of the roof. Every time he swings his legs over it feels like a blissful relief, having a place to call his own where he can watch the sunset, the clouds, admire the city across the water. Sometimes Becca will join him, but she knows that it’s his refuge as much as the extra room she uses for dancing and drawing is hers, so she respects it, and leaves him to his devices most times.

He appreciates it a hell of a lot. 

With that, it’s also a bit of a secret. He doesn’t bring his friends up here just in case they’re the ones he needs an escape _from_ , and Becca knows not to give him up if that ever happens. 

“This is a neat little spot you got here. No one else comes up here?”

Louis shakes his head and pats the space next to him on the edge of the roof, urging Bucky to sit. 

“It’s nice to have someplace that’s my own. You got anything like this?”

Bucky huffs a little laugh, exhaling cigarette smoke with it. “No. Never have, actually. Having a twin and all… Doesn’t leave much room for independence. That’s not Becca’s fault, though. We’re both… scary codependent. Although these days she’s more attached to you.” He passes the cigarette to Louis. “Me and Steve are gonna get a place soon, though. Just waiting on him to find some work, shouldn’t be too long now. It won’t be completely mine, but it’ll be something new, at least.”

Louis knows the side effects of having siblings all too well. The company is nice, but the lack of personal space wears you down after a while. It’s that empathy that has Louis opening his big dumb mouth with the cigarette still hanging out of it.

“You, uh, you could come up here if you want. Whenever you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.”

“What? Louis, no. I can’t steal your spot. This is your personal space, you shouldn’t have to be worrying about whether I’m up here or not when you wanna be alone.” 

Louis bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his own. “I really, _really_ wouldn’t mind. You being around isn’t exactly a burden.”

It’ll be a miracle if Bucky doesn’t interpret Louis’ words the same way they sound to his own ears. He’s not desperate for Bucky’s attention, or his company, he’s _not_. He doesn’t know why he offered at all. This _is_ his space, something he doesn’t share with anyone. But he gets a certain kind of rush at the thought of Bucky showing up here unannounced. A pleasant surprise after a long day at work, maybe. They could play darts, kick a ball around or something. Or just talk, even. That’d be nice. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Louis whispers to himself, apropos of nothing.

“What?” Bucky gives him that soft, concerned look as if he genuinely wants to know. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just think about it, okay?”

Bucky nods, smiles gratefully and plucks the cigarette from Louis’ fingers, taking the last few drags and billowing smoke out into the dusk. 

He’s beautiful. Louis watches his mouth as he smokes, watches him lick his lips and feels when his own eyelids go heavy. He wants to lean in, wants to kiss Bucky, and he wants it so much that his own desire shocks the hell out of him. And maybe he’s crazy, maybe he’s tired, maybe he’s imagining it because he wants it to be real, but he swears that Bucky is watching him back. 

_Oh fuck_ indeed.

{ ☆ }

Louis has never been fishing before, so this is probably the worst idea ever. He’s just holding an oar like an idiot, watching Niall and Harry fight over the tackle box. Harry wants to hold it because it’s pretty and he decorated it all nice. Niall actually needs it to bait their lines. 

“Harry, just give him the damn box so this can be over with.”

They both glare at him.

“Fishing is a legitimate and fun pastime,” Harry rattles off for the tenth time today. “Why are you being so grouchy?”

“Oh, I dunno.” He shrugs dramatically. “Because I’ve never done this before? And you two are bickering? Because I have somewhere to be in a few hours? And now I’m going to smell like gross fish water and probably be late?”

“Let me guess,” Niall says matter-of-factly, “You’re seeing Bucky tonight.”

It takes every last bit of willpower in Louis’ body to not blush up to his ears.

“Yeah? And? I don’t exactly want Becca’s family to hate me.”

Harry snatches the tackle box and puts it into his lap, which means Niall has to get out and push them off the shore. He does, grumbling the whole time, and Harry just squints at Louis judgmentally. 

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Bucky lately.”

He grits his teeth at the echo of Becca’s words.

“M’just trying to make a good impression.”

That’s what he’s been telling himself. It almost sounds true when he says it out loud.

“It’s been three months, Louis.”

“So?”

Niall hops back into the boat. “Start paddling, lover boy.”

“Oh for God’s sake–”

“Hey!” Niall shouts. “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain around me. Mam will smell the blasphemy on me when I get home. Can’t have her thinking it was me.”

“No, Niall,” Harry says gently, “You’re thinking of cigarettes.”

“I fucking wish!”

Louis gets away with neither of them mentioning Bucky for a while. They cast their lines and talk about work and point out the new buildings going up around Manhattan. The sun starts to set behind the Brooklyn Bridge, disappearing and reappearing as they move around the water. It’s nice, the cool breeze coming up from the water and the inevitability of nightfall. It’s Louis’ favorite time of day, and maybe fishing isn’t so bad. He says as much.

“You haven’t touched your pole once,” Harry points out.

That’s irrelevant.

Suddenly Louis jolts. “Oh fuck. We have to get going.”

“Right,” Niall says with a smirk, “Your date.”

“I will come over there and punch you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

He knows he’s being defensive, that the more he vehemently denies it the more suspicious he looks. But he can’t play into it either, can’t make himself join in on the joke because somehow it doesn’t feel like one. The thought of it tears at the edges of his heart, the one that belongs to Becca. He feels like it’s being pulled in two directions, and Bucky doesn’t even realize that he’s got a grip on the other end. 

No one does. And no one can. 

“Whatever, Neil, just help me paddle.”

{ ☆ }

“You know how I’ve been training? For the Army and stuff?”

Bucky tosses the baseball into the air, swings his bat and sends it to far left field, right into Steve’s waiting glove. Niall came along today, wanting to meet the infamous Bucky Barnes. But all he’s doing now is yapping at Steve about God knows what while dutifully keeping him from toppling over into the grass. 

“Yeah. And stuff.” Louis snorts, trying to hide the way he stomach drops at the mere mention of the Army. It’s easy to pretend that the threat of it isn’t constantly looming when he’s with Bucky, talking about everything and nothing. But then he does that, rips the rug out from under Louis’ feet and reminds him that this could all be taken away in an instant. “You said they were gonna promote you to Sergeant or somethin’.”

Louis catches the ball from where it’s rolling towards him. Steve’s throw fell a bit short. He tosses the ball back to Bucky, who sends it sailing back to Steve. 

Bucky hums his confirmation. “I think they’re gonna ship us out soon. And I’m scared that Steve is gonna try to go too. He’s been talking about making fake papers, trying to sneak in and get drafted somehow. All the war propaganda is really getting to his head but… They’ll never let him, not with his rap sheet of ailments. But I’m still worried. And I’m worried it’ll upset him when I go and he’s stuck here.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the whole, you know, _war_ thing?”

Steve’s lying down on the grass now, panting hard and tossing the ball up in the air for Niall to catch. The two of them are probably bonding over their Irish roots. The thing is that Niall’s actually from Ireland, and Steve finds it endlessly fascinating.

“I know it’s stupid, but–”

“It’s not,” Louis says quickly. “I’ll look after him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too… Steve-like. God knows I’m not signing up an I probably won’t get drafted since I’m 4-G. But it is wartime, so…”

Louis doesn’t mention that the thought of Bucky getting shipped out to war makes him physically nauseous. He doesn’t say how much he’ll miss him if and when he goes. He doesn’t talk about the fact that he considers Bucky one of his best friends now, that he’s practically family, and if he gets taken away it’ll leave a hole in Louis’ heart that no one else in Brooklyn could fill. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

And Bucky shoots him _that fucking smile_ and Louis just about whimpers right there on the field. It sets him temporarily at ease.

“Heads up, lads!”

Niall sends the ball back to them, and Louis catches it easily. He hands it over to Bucky, doing his damnedest to ignore the way their fingers brush. 

“Gonna knock it out of the park, Sergeant?”

Bucky winks. 

Then he’s winding up to toss the ball. He crouches slightly, releases, and his body twists, up and up and up as Louis tries his best not to ogle him. Bucky’s arm rises straight up above his head and the ball slips off the edges of his fingers, sailing high in the air. A sliver of skin peeks out from where his shirt has ridden up and–

And.

And Bucky freezes in a graceful arc, watching the ball go up, up, up.

And Louis stares at the skin of Bucky’s hip. 

And he sees it.

No bigger than a quarter.

The delicate brand of his soulmark. 

The letters _L.T._ in stark black ink, marring his skin like a sick, twisted tattoo. 

And then it’s gone. Bucky takes position to swing his bat, hitting his mark perfectly. The crack of it echoes through Louis’ skull. 

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but, “What the fuck.” It’s barely a question, more of a whisper. 

But Bucky hears him. And Bucky turns to look at him, grinning and squinting in the golden light of the sunset and Louis’ heart lurches.

“What? You impressed?”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring dumbly at the place where Bucky’s soulmark sits, hidden once again.

“Louis? You okay?”

He’s not okay. He’s definitely not. He walks away. 

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard in his head. “Louis! Where are you going?”

Louis doesn’t look back, and luckily there aren’t any footsteps following him either. He’s nearly home before he realizes that he’s barely breathing, rounding down his block short of breath with a vice grip on his mitt. He wants to throw up, and every step home feels like a betrayal to Becca. And– did she know about this? 

She had to have. They’re twins. Twins with the same soulmark. They know everything about the other, have been two sides of the same coin since birth. Before that, even.

Louis stops walking when he’s jolted with the memory of what Bucky said all those months ago.

He was speaking from experience.

The fear is replaced with anger then, and he storms up his front steps. He carelessly throws his baseball mitt onto the stoop and fumbles with his keys. It takes him three tries to get it into the lock. It’s eating up his insides; he’s going to burst.

Becca’s at the table, reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like Louis’ entire life hasn’t just turned upside down.

It makes Louis angrier.

“You knew?” he growls. “Tell me you didn’t fucking know.”

And any normal person would say _what? what the hell are you talking about?_ But they’re soulmates. They have no secrets. Becca looks like she knows exactly what Louis is talking about. And she looks horrified.

Still, she says, in a small, small voice, “Know what, Lou?”

He slams his arm onto the table, palm up with a tightly clenched fist.

“Does the _B_ stand for Bucky or Becca?”

Her silence is all the answer he needs. And instead of being consumed by his rage, storming out of the house or throwing a punch at the drywall, he just deflates. All the fight leaves him as he sinks onto the couch, the only residue of tension being his tight grip on his own hair.

“Why?” he begs hoarsely. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?”

He can see the moment she’s about to let the insecurities come pouring out of her, and then watches as she locks it back up.

“We agreed. When we were kids. When ma told us what the marks meant and told us that it didn’t mean we were each other’s soulmates– Our souls are identical. We’re not, but…” 

“You _agreed?_ What the fuck does that even mean?” Louis feels the adrenaline start to kick back in. “You made the decision _for_ me? How could you even know what I would want _?_ ”

“We said whoever met you first–”

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

Then she starts it. She starts crying and Louis feels his entire chest seize up.

“Becca don’t you fucking do that.” 

“Louis, please. We didn’t want– We couldn’t. We couldn’t _choose_ , Louis. That’s not _fair_. H-How could anyone ever ask us to d-do that?”

“How could you ask _me_ to do that?!”

His head is spinning. The whole room is spinning. He stands up on wobbly feet and treads to their bedroom just for the satisfaction of slamming the door. But it’s not enough. His skin is still buzzing with the absence of an outlet. He doesn’t want to cry. He can’t cry. He _won’t._ So he kicks at the bed frame, knocks everything off the top of the dresser and sends his fist at the closet door, immediately regretting it when he hears the crack of bone breaking. He slumps down onto the floor, cradling his hand. It’s still not enough, so he cries.

Bucky’s his soulmate.

It explains the inexplicable draw to him, the way they got along from the almost-beginning. It explains Bucky’s initial hostility, the way he was reluctant to get close to Louis. It must’ve been torture for him, knowing exactly who his soulmate is and being unable to have them. 

He’s angry at them for taking away his choice in the matter. No one gets spared here. 

His autonomy gets taken away by their previous agreement: he’s hurt. 

Becca met Louis first and got to have him: Bucky’s hurt. 

If Bucky had met Louis first: Becca’s hurt. 

But if they had told Louis and he chose, they’re all hurt.

Yet here they all are anyway.

But all this time, he thought he was straying away from his soulmate. He had let the guilt eat at him, the confusion. How could he ever want someone that wasn’t his soulmate? He _had_ her, but he kept seeking Bucky out. 

It makes sense now.

But he’s mostly upset. Upset that now he knows Bucky was suffering. Now he _does_ have to make a decision because he has to _tell_ Bucky that he knows. And he’s going to have to break someone’s heart, along with his own. 

There’s no easy way out of this. 

Becca comes tiptoeing into the room an indeterminate amount of time later when the sun’s long gone down and his legs are almost numb. She wraps up his hand, presses a bag of ice to it and curls up next to him, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I know.”

She presses closer. “I love you.”

His soulmark itches.

“I know.”

{ ☆ }

Louis reconciles that the worst part of all this is that they thought they were sparing him by not telling him. But all they were really doing was sparing themselves from the inevitable pain of his choice. A fruitless effort, he realizes bitterly.

He wishes he’d never found out. 

He avoids Bucky, for all intents and purposes, but it’s just as well that Bucky doesn’t try to reach him either. The phone in the living room stays silent, no matter how much Louis stares at it, and maybe it isn’t worth the cost of a phone call.

But the doorbell doesn’t ring either. 

Becca goes to visit her mom and doesn’t come back with a message from Bucky. 

It’s weeks before he hears anything. And that something comes in the form of an asthmatic Steve Rogers barreling into Louis on his way home from work, yelling that tonight is Bucky’s last before shipping out, that he was denied enlistment _again_ and they’re going to the World’s Fair and Louis has to man up and join them. The sight of him is a shock in and of itself; Louis hasn’t seen anyone besides Becca when she came around for clean clothes while she stayed at her mom’s. It’s a miracle that he gets his voice to work, grateful that Steve isn’t on anyone’s side here. He probably doesn’t even know. 

But the sight of Steve reminds him of Bucky and that pulls at his heart just as well. 

“I dunno if it’s worth it, Steve. This whole thing’s already torn us all apart. Becca won’t talk to me, I haven’t seen Niall in weeks – Harry says he’s mad at me for running away and leaving Bucky because apparently he figured out what was wrong like, twelve seconds after I–”

Steve’s hearing is questionable at the best of times, so Louis doubts he can hear him over the sound of his borderline wheezing. 

“Are you okay?”

Steve coughs.

“I’m fine. You have to come tonight or else I’m gonna–”

“Teach me a lesson?” Louis feels himself smile for the first time since he found out. 

Steve waves a fist at him. “I won’t pull my punches, Tommo.”

On the one hand, he hasn’t seen Bucky in weeks, and Bucky has made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk to Louis.

But he’ll regret it if he doesn’t see Bucky off. He’ll obsess over it, he’ll wonder what might’ve happened. If Bucky dies over there and he doesn’t get to say goodbye? He can’t live with that. 

“I’ll think about it.”

{ ☆ }

Becca’s sitting on the couch when he gets home. It’s quiet in a way that it never is, even in the past few weeks. She always has a record on. Or the TV. Or the radio. But it’s never just Becca with her feet tucked up beside her and her eyes framed in red and a suitcase on the floor in front of her.

Louis can’t find his voice. He can’t find his tears or his anger or any kind of reaction for what’s about to happen.

So he just closes the door, drops his coat onto the ground next to him and waits. Waits for the next blow. It’s coming, he knows. She’s winding up and he’s already bracing his heart for impact.

She starts with, “I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

It hits him like a truck, badly enough that he can’t summon the energy to listen to her speech. It starts at the back of his skull, the sensation that someone is pulling on a thread that connects his heart and his head. It hurts. No one ever told him how much it hurts, that he would be able to physically feel the bond between them breaking. 

If Becca can feel it too, she doesn’t show it. 

{ ☆ }

“I’m so sorry, Lou.”

Harry pets at his hair as Louis silently stares over the water. Everything’s different at night. It feels more like a dream. Like when the sun comes up, everything will be just how it was and he’ll roll over in bed and wrap his arms around Becca. She’ll tease him with a kiss and he won’t want to go to work and–

And it still hurts in the place where Becca used to be.

“I’ve lost them both. Who do you ever hear of losing two soulmates?” Louis scoffs. “Fucking on par for me, though, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say that,” Harry says adamantly. “You deserve better. _So_ much better. I promise you’re gonna find it.”

And it’s not that Louis doesn’t want the comfort, it’s that the words feel hollow when he’s… he’s grieving his lost love. Harry is one of those people that tells you exactly what you want to hear. But Louis is cold, and lost, and clinging to Harry while the wind ruffles them both up and he kind of just wants a quiet cuddle under the bridge. He just wants to wallow. 

“I know you’re trying to be a good friend, but I just wanna be upset about it for a while, okay? You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be fine, I just… just let me be upset. For now.”

Harry nods. “I understand.” And goes back to petting Louis’ hair.

{ ☆ }

It’s six the next morning and someone’s pounding on Louis’ front door. A burglar would’ve just walked right in, seeing as they – _he,_ it’s just Louis now – never locks it, but one look through the peephole lets him know that it’s definitely not a burglar.

It’s Steve fucking Rogers.

When Louis opens the door he gets one frail fist to the stomach. It barely hurts, and he’s able to jump back so that what little strength Steve _can_ conjure up doesn’t connect a second time.

“What the fuck, Steve? You just come into people’s houses punching them? Should I punch you back?”

Steve ignores him. “Fuck you for not coming last night and saying goodbye to Bucky. I know it’s awkward but you could’ve at least–”

“Becca called it off yesterday,” he says flatly, the implications clear in his wording. “And she moved back home.”

“Christ, Louis, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He guides Louis to the sofa, sitting in a silence Steve’s only capable of with his sketch pad in hand. It’s companionable, so it’s comforting, but Louis can tell that he doesn’t know what to say, either. He doesn’t need Steve to anyhow. Steve’s always been a good friend – a devastatingly loyal one – if a little prickly and defiant. But here, now, Louis appreciates his company more than anything. Steve knows grief, he knows suffering. Steve Rogers knows pain and knows how to take it on the chin and get back up. And being around him always makes Louis feel that much stronger. 

“I don’t think Becca told him anything,” Steve says after a while. “He’s been wanting to call, but he’s been waiting for you. I told him to suck it up, but… you know how he is.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

“Right. Ever the idiot, though. He’s missed you. He doesn’t know what’s wrong and Becca won’t tell him. You don’t have to tell me, either. But I think whatever it is, you could probably work it out.”

But Bucky is probably gone by now, miles away, about to head into _war._

Louis shakes his head, heart aching. 

“It’s too late.” 

“I thought you might say that.” Then, suddenly, all five-foot-seven of a skinny Steve Rogers is trying to tower over Louis. “Plan B, then.”

“What the hell is plan B?”

Steve smiles. “There’s this doctor…”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/616clint).  
> This is my [Tumblr](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com).  
> And here is a [shareable post](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/186164745769) for this fic.  
> Comments and kudos are beyond appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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